Katherine Hillard-Oliver's Pregnancy, Lifestyle & Family Blog
by jjdpseattle
Summary: WARNING: M for foul language & sexual themes. Also note that this is for Adults [18 & over] only set in the Dino Thunder era I may also do a similar style to this fic for Kira & Trent A/N Currently on Hold
1. Introduction

The first post of anything is always weird and uncomfortable, kind of like a cleaning at the dentist. I know the majority of people who will read this already know all about my life thanks to the wild world of Facebook, but I still feel like I need to make an introductory post. Who knows, maybe I'll end up with a massive following and a book deal that will allow me to make piles of money and rent a personal chef! A girl can dream, right?

Almost four years ago I welcomed the most wonderful little treasure in to my life. As the little lizard-looking creature was vacuumed from my torn loins I couldn't have imagined how my life would change. Now, I can say with about 57% certainty that I would not give this life up for a second. Jackson is an amazing little being that is changing on a daily basis. I, too, am in a constant state of change. Not my clothes, hair, house, or hobbies – No. That hasn't budged in four years. Mentally, though, I am like a revolving door of emotion. Kids can take the most stable, sane person and turn them in to the biggest ball of crazy you can imagine. I am delighted to welcome you in to the inner workings of my crazy, beautiful life.

Here are some simple things to understand though before we go any further.

1\. I am not a grammar freak. It is 100% likely that in every single post I will commit some horrible grammatical crimes that will make some of my friends cringe and bang their heads off their desks. I'm okay with that and here is why. During the day I get about 47 seconds to myself to do things that don't involve kids.I usually choose to poop during those moments. Now that Ive started a blog there is a good chance that I will be typing on my phone while pooping and listening to see if the kids are trying to kill one another in the living room. If my phone decides to auto correct words in to something completely dumb I am counting on YOU as an adult to figure out what I meant. Come on, I know you can do it! It's not that hard. I also don't want you to get bent out of shape if I incorrectly use then and than. Seriously people, this isn't a resume or a literary masterpiece. The future of the human race will not look to this blog for answers. We can all be friends and accept that I won't always get it right. I also don't proof read so you'll have that to deal with, too. Don't get me started on the commas. I throw those b****s around like a pimp on Saturday night! Sometimes I will even start a sentence and forget when to stop rambling! I blame it on the fact that since having Jackson I've probably slept a total of 44 hours.

2\. I LOVE to curse. When I say love, I mean LOVE! Like, if I could marry the phrase, "For fuck sakes!" I totally would. Cursing makes me feel good. Makes me happy when shit is hitting the fan (or lost somewhere in the house). There are no taboo curse words in my pantry so if you're the type to get offended at a little 'b****' action I would abort now! NOW! You go find that little X tucked up in that right hand corner and you press that bugger! Make sure to head to Facebook right after and talk about how horrible I am though. I think it's funny.

3\. I call my kid "asshole". A lot. Does it mean I don't love them? Not in the least! I really do love Jackson and there is a good chance I think they're better than (see, see! I can use it right when I try!) most of the people I know, but that doesn't mean I don't think they're they douchiest little bastards that ever graced the earth from time to time. It's all cool though because I'm pretty sure they hate me at times, too. I've read blogs in the past that spend every post praising their little miracles and all I can think is either those women are drunk all the time or they're lying. Why? Because kids are ASSHOLES.

4\. This isn't a 'Watch me be the best Mom and Wife!' blog either. Despite the fact that I have collected an impressive number of crafts and recipes that I plan on doing with my kid at some point in time, right now is not happening. There have been many days where I stick my kid in front of some vinegar and baking soda and let him have at it just so I can drink my coffee in quiet. If I had the time in my day to set up these elaborate Pinterest style crafts for the kid I'd probably skip that time and go get a freakin' shower! Who has time for that shit? Do it after they go to bed and have activities ready for the morning? Hellllllll no. When the kids hit the pillows I sit my lazy ass down in my recliner and watch a disgusting amount of TV while browsing the internet to pin crap I'll never do. Is it a waste of my time? Absolutely. Does it help me wake up the next morning and not have the urge to sell my kids on kijiji? You betcha. I am also a very bossy, annoying wife half of the time. I really do love my husband when you strip away all the layers, but we have been known to engaged in some epic fights. It could be about anything really and once it starts watch out! I am not above complaining about him here. If you're one of those, "Oh, my husband is the best thing to ever happen to me and he's my world and my heart and oh MY GOD! he's so handsome and we're best friends and I would never say anything about him in public because that's not what good wives do!" people you're reeeeaaaaally gonna hate me. The Hubs finds it funny and he can sling it just as good as he can take it. After 12 years together I think we got it pretty much figured out.

5\. Lastly, this blog isn't going to be just about the kid. How boring would it be to read about only one topic over and over? I know I'd get annoyed. It's even more boring to write about one topic. This isn't my first blog rodeo. I started one a while back but it was focused more on my health. It was fine for a while but I found that I was running out of stuff to write about. I enjoy health and fitness but I'll never be the sensation that loses 67lbs in 12 weeks and gets featured on the next great weightloss website. I live each day as best as I can but if the kid have been crazy all day you can bet the farm on the fact that I'll be drowning my sorrows in a cookie and a beer later on that night. It's not that I'm not working on bettering myself but it isn't as fast as the people following my old blog deserved. Atleast with this blog I can write about all kinds of stuff and know I can disappoint people across the board for all kinds of reasons! Yay, Internet! On a side note, if you can't stand what I have to say and feel the need to leave nasty comments, you're shit out of luck. I get to moderate comments and I will be deleting any comments that suck because I CAN. Oh, the power.

So, there you have it. This train has started and it's up to you where you jump off.


	2. Chapter 1

WARNING: If you are under 18 years of age, please leave now, as this is a pretty raunchy story

Before Tommy and I had our son Jackson, I would ask my friends Kimberly & Aisha about their experiences with pregnancy, newborns, and life in general. I thought if I just asked enough questions I would be prepared for what was to come, ready to deal with the ups and downs of being a new parent. It was a perfect plan! Except for one minor detail:

KIMBERLY AND AISHA ARE LIARS.

No, I'm not over exaggerating at all. (Well, maybe just a tad. But still!). From the remedies for heart burn to the irreversible damage done to my sweet, little you-know-what, very rarely did they tell me the honest truth. I now know that everything was a shade of truth with generous doses of creative lying. There seems to be this cult of women who are scared to tell the real truth about most important time in your life, so I'm here to fix that crao. Anyone who knows me know I don't sugar coat the truth or minimize reality. What I am about to tell you is 100% true. You can choose to believe me, or lie to yourself and say it isn't the truth in your case, but at the end of the day you'll all have a better insight into what it really is like to 'become a mother'.

The first lie we love to tell:

1\. Pregnancy is a beautiful, magical time!

This is a flat-out lie. I have never been more miserable than when I was pregnant. It started out with sickness, moved in to constant urination, continued with violent internal outbursts from my clearly possessed child, pushed onward to heartburn, and ended with me pooping on a table. Put some Mickey ears on me and call this vacation because I am DONE! Why in the world would anyone call pregnancy magical? I mean, getting the little dude in there was magical. I'm willing to bet I was twisted in some Cirque de Soleil moves during that romp. However, from the moment my genetics and the Hubs shook hands, it was as if a really shady rental agreement was taken out on my body and Reefside's Worst Tenant parked his a$$ down in my belly, ready to make the next 9 months as bad as humanly possible. Sure, to the outside world I looked glowing. But guess what? I was trying to hold in a fart. Pregnancy farts are toxic. No one told you? Why am I not surprised? People commented on how cute my belly looked. I almost fell in to the lie of telling people how wonderful it all was! And then Jackson would kick me so hard in the cervix I would buckle over, piss myself a little, and fart a little. As I entered the later stages of pregnancy, it only got worse. Around the time that it became 100% impossible for me to see my vagina, I realized that my entire body was a fucked as Jenny McCarthy after she jumped on the anti-vaccine bandwagon. From back on, I looked like a loaf of bread. Gone were the days of a sexy curved waist, smooth skin, and a flawless complexion. At seven months pregnant, I was being ravaged by hateful little pregnancy hormones.

The second lie we tell:

The delivery will hurt but once you see that baby's face it will be all worth it!

The baby is awesome, but I wouldn't say it's worth the pain. Don't get me wrong – I love my son and wouldn't give him up for anything – but it's 2014, People! Can't we find a better way to get these little ones out? Saying that babies are worth the pain like saying that severing your own arm with a butter knife is worth the drop in weight. Seriously, something so precious shouldn't burst in to your life under such hateful circumstances. With Jackson, I was put on bedrest for a week for a stupid reason and forced to go through an induction. I know, I know – tell me how it is easier when you go when nature intended – doesn't mean jack to me. It all hurts no matter how they come out. When I was given the drugs to induce they ended up over stimulating my uterus, resulting in my body wanting to go through three contractions in a row before I had a break. As I sat there, trying not to vomit up my own tongue, the nurses kept telling me to walk. "Walk! Walk! Get that baby really low! Keep walking!". Screw you and your walking! If you could picture the worst diarrhea cramp in the universe, mix that with extreme fatigue and hunger, then mix in the feeling of your insides attempting to explode out of your body at any moment. Now walk! Let's toss in a husband trying to touch you while you sway and curse in the hospital hallway and you have a fucking party. On a good day I hate being touched when I am in any type of pain, but during labor the touch of my husband felt like being cuddled by Rob Ford. I hated it. HATED IT. After I finally vomited all of my popsicle out during a particularly hard contraction, I was finally offered a epidural. The one shining moment of labour! It didn't hurt that the anesthesiologist had THE BEST moustache I have ever seen. For a brief time I managed to sleep, only awakened when someone decided it was time to dig around in my vagina. Another thing I learned that day was an adult female can actually go elbow deep inside my vag. You mothers know what I'm talking about. The moment you realize that little cervix check is actually the doctor giving the baby his first real hug, you know your under carriage is forever fucked. As the turned off my magical medicine drip ( . .) and I started to push, I never realized it would be hours before I was done.

This third lie should die a fiery death:

Your body knows what to do! It'll snap back in no time!

See this? See this middle finger? This is for you, you bunch of lying jerks. My poor, poor body. The body that I never really appreciated until it was gone. The things that pregnancy and child-birth does to a body seems like a cruel, sick joke. As I lay there after being totally violated by a vacuum, cuddling my prehistoric lizard baby, I was relieved to finally get my body back. The heart burn that haunted me for months was instantly gone. My bladder let out a sigh of relief, and my back already felt better. However, no one sees your insides. No one cares about your insides. No one tries to stuff their insides in to a pair of skinny jeans on the rare occasion that they get to escape the house.

After the first day I knew my breasts were shot. They had grown ENORMOUS from the milk building up. My nipples took on a life of their own. Even the most dense person could have guessed that the limits of stretching were being met and eventually, like all things forced to uncomfortable limits, they would sag like the face of a Real Housewife. The skin on my belly no longer had that tight, youthful feel. It now looked and felt like a bowl of risen bread dough. Even now, after almost four years after delivering Jackson, the texture of my stomach is odd. I'm sure there are some out there who spring back, but not all of us. Not all of us will return to our old body. Stop lying and start telling the truth!

Be kind be caring be kinky

A little side note since this post has gone viral: I do, in fact, love my son. He really is the best thing that has happened to me. Before you send me a ridiculous comment telling me how I'm going to hell, stop yourself. You may want to use your valuable time teaching _your_ child about humour and satire. I'll worry about how to be an awesome mother to my kid and a windy wife to my husband :D


	3. Chapter 2

WARNING: 18 and over only due to foul language

Before I had kids, January 1st marked the start of a new diet. A new outlook on life. The beginning of a new, exciting conquest to tackle the world's problems, my own problems, and the problems of those around me. Plans were carefully laid out and I was certain that THIS year would be the year that I didn't break the promise to myself to be better. By January 20th, I unceremoniously discovered that I'm a fucking liar. My ideas were too grand and my willpower was about as strong as the underwire in a Wal-Mart bra. Inevitably, I'd slowly let go of my big dreams and accept the New Year would be the same as the last. For the most part it worked because my life was fine. I wasn't unhappy or desperate for change, so trying to force a change just wasn't going to work no matter how many spread sheets or new agendas I started. I was me and that was that. Then I got knocked up. The New Year following the birth of Jackson, I was determined to sleep more. That was it. That resolution was broken almost immediately, but the blame lies completely with my child who refused to sleep at all until he was over a year old. The second new year after becoming a mother, I was determined to get fit. I wanted washboard abs, an ass that begged to have quarters bounced off of it, and boobs that defied the laws of gravity. I was going to run on my treadmill ever night after the baby was put to bed. Totally reasonable, right? WRONG. There are many mothers out there who can manage to carve out time to head to the gym, but I wasn't one of them. My downtime is MY time. On the first of January 2014, my only goal was to get a little better organized. My house was mountain of plastic and cereal, and I was ready to tackle it. For once, I was a success! Over the year, we actually figured out a way to have the house fun for the kids without my living space looking like Target after looters ravaged the place. Only problem? With all the cleaning, sorting, and parenting, I became a fat, sad bitch.

I was fucked over by organization.

In previous years, all of this would have panicked me. If I had told my old self that in a few years I'd be sitting here overweight and lazy, old me would have laughed! Then cried. I always said I wouldn't be 'THAT woman'. You know, the one who can't handle life. The thing is, I did handle life! I handled what I had to when I had to, but in the process I also handled lots of chocolate, cookies, muffins, wine, grease, and ribs. So. Many. Ribs. As I navigated my chaotic life, I made a decision to forget the absolutes that come with resolutions and instead I decided to give myself permission to do what I had to in order to start getting things accomplished. If eating my stress meant that the house would finally be organized and my child didn't have to go through any motherly meltdowns, then so be it. As it happens, the stress of the year threw a depression curveball my way, so I'm actually thankful that I had my focus on only one project.

So, as the first day of January 2015 rolled over, it was time for me to make a new promise to myself. The past taught me to avoid making grand statements, so I went with a few simple tasks for the year instead.

1: I'm putting away the bitch card.

Since I've been a small child, everyone has joked about my bossy ways. My bitchy ways. If there was someone in my life with a problem, they would always come my way looking for advice, which I always gave freely. I'd listen to people complain for hours about how terrible life was, how unhappy they were, and how everything is SO HARD. I'd talk them through it, tell them what they should do, and all that jazz. Nine times out of ten, the same person would come to me again bitching about the same thing, looking for the same advice I already gave that they refused to listen to. The frustration would cause fights between my family and me, it was making me eat, and I hated always having to say what others never wanted to. It's not a nice feeling to be shit on when you're not the problem. So, this year I am picking and choosing when I want to be the go-to person. No longer will I sit on the other side of a conversation for an hour that is one-sided. I have a life too, ya know!

This also means I won't be getting in to battles with others. If you want to sink yourself under a pile of bad decisions, that's cool! I'm going to be cheerful and ignorant of your situation. You are not my children; therefore I am not going to pretend to be your mother. You are in charge of saving yourself, and if you go off the deep end I'm going to just ignore it. My life is too short and too promising you worry about your issues.

2: Stop getting fat.

Now, I'm not making any crazy commitment to get skinny and fit by the end of the year. In fact, if I don't lose one pound this year I'm cool with that! However, it is time to stop the gain. Over the course of last year I gained 30lbs, and that is enough. My clothes now fit uncomfortably, my boobs are massive, and it's hard to move this extra weight. The time is here and all I need to do is adjust my habits to fit this goal. What adjustments will I make? I'm forcing myself to try new recipes, eat more plant-based meals, and stop the stress snacking. Luckily, with the house organized and my letting go of other people's drama, I already have noticed a huge improvement in the urge to fill my stomach with the chocolate I've hidden from Jackson.

But I do like beer. So it's time to slowly fix the wrong without forcing myself to give up the occasional 10:30am beach beer. That shit is sacred.

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	4. Chapter 3

WARNING: Again, 18 and over only due to language

Somewhere around the sixth month of pregnancy, I knew my body was never returning to it's former glory. I know, I know. Your body bounced back three months postpartum. I'm sure you think if I just tried a little harder, my body would snap back and fit in to all my old things. That's great! If I had all the time in the world, I'd gladly dedicate my free hours to working hard on the bod, sweating away at the gym to tighten up this saggy tush and perk up my droopy rack. However, my few free hours a week is much better spent working on my mental health (Because let's be honest: being fit is all good and fun but it doesn't exactly prevent me from wanting to stuff Jackson in a suitcase and ship the little one off to a private school in Switzerland. Re-runs of Jersey Shore, on the other hand, are my miracle drug!). Before I even entertained the idea of kids, I was a body conscious individual. Even when I was, by societies standards, a thin woman, I always felt fat. I was embarrassed of my legs, ashamed of my muffin top, and aware of the way that clothes fit my frame. Spending countless hours poking and shifting the back rolls that erupted from under my bra strap and the ring of jelly that rested just under my butt cheeks, I'd pick apart my physique. Every time I sat on the toilet, I'd stare at the skin that slipped past the toilet seat, measuring how many finger widths my thighs protruded over. These flaws _could_ be fixed if I just tried hard enough. The problem is I never really tried. As much as I wanted that tight little body, my mind was always more driven by the prospect of having a fun weekend filled with alcohol and Street Meat. (No, I'm not a prostitute or a buyer of such. If you get it, you get it. If you don't, you're missing out on the best (possibly contaminated) post-club treat ever!) Pregnancy changes the body. People who say they 'snap back' after pregnancy are few and far between. Yeah, you may end up just as skinny, maybe even skinner! But the bones never really settle back just the same way. Your skin feels different. Depending on your size, your breasts change texture. Things just change. It's not always for the worst, but it definitely is an eye opener when your scale congratulates you for reaching your pre-pregnancy weight but your jeans are still sausaged somewhere between your ass and that muffin. Now admittedly, I had a period of grieving over the loss of my old body after giving birth to Jackson. He was fifteen pounds! It would be fucking embarrassing to get dressed, and I would dread heading out to be around others because I knew what was coming.

People love to stare. Look you up and down, searching for all the ways you've failed at getting back to where you once were physically. Friends of mine do it and don't even realize I know they do it! Or maybe they do and don't care. I'm not an idiot, so when you look me in the eyes, and then very obviously scan up and down my body only stopping to examine my mid section, I know you're silently critiquing me. If you're ever interested in asking me about my body, just do it! I have no shame and would gladly show you what I'm packing under my shirt.

I don't give a fuck anymore. I've started filling my closet with things that I love because they are awesome, not because some stupid magazine promoting eating disorders thinks it the 'in' thing. First, I started by addressing my legs. I have cankles, scars from surgeries and ingrown hairs, and horrible hair growth patterns combined with very coarse hair. Anyone who knows me know that I use to hate my legs with a burning passion. One day I just said 'fuck it' and I fixed it. I tattooed those suckers with things I found beautiful, and BAM! They're no longer an issue. In fact, now I look for excuses to show my legs off! Yes, they still are covered in perma-hair dots. Yes, they still have cellulite. Yes, I still have cankles. But I am also the owner of beautiful art. I am a fucking walking canvas, bitches! Just as people fail to notice the cracks in the plaster at the Sistine Chapel, people now get distracted by my tattoos when they look at my legs. Eyes no longer focus on my scars. It's been one of the most positive life changing decisions I've ever made.

Now, buying clothes is a fun experiment. I'm no longer facing the constraints of choosing clothes that hide flaws. Instead, I now by things I think look awesome! Some things don't work out (because I still in my mind picture my body as a perky sixteen year old's) but the things that do make my life a little brighter!

If you don't like my fake pleather leggings that I bought from stripper clothing site online, I don't care. They may highlight the fact that my legs are chunky, but I don't give a flying assfuck. They look awesome with my tunics. If you don't like my tank top with the little bunny unicorns, I don't care. They're cute and you most likely have no imagination.

If you don't like my back fat that bulges around my bra, I don't care. My new bra is hot and I hear no complaints from Doctor Oliver. Feel free to stand in front of me if you don't like the back view.

If you think I look like a stuffed sausage in my new red dress, I don't care. My tits look awesome in it and I don't need to hide my chub for your comfort. So, excuse me while I teach my son how to celebrate the people for who they are, not what they wear.

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	5. Chapter 4

WARNING: 18 and over only due to foul language

My entire life can be summed up in these three categories: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Every week, it seems as though the universe reaches way down in to it's giant cosmic hat and hands me one of each to deal with, just waiting to see which will get the biggest reaction. This past week was no exception.

 **THE GOOD**

As you all know, I'm pretty damn fond of Tommy Oliver. Even when he's pissing me off, I still can't help but look at this man in pure awe over all the things he has accomplished in his life. This pass week, my smarty-pants hubby was flown down to New York to present along side some other super smart folk about new ways to approach archaeological projects and their completion. Pretty vague, I know. The point, though, is that this was an opportunity that found _him_. The man doesn't even realize just how amazing he is at his job! Between myself, my mother, or my father, I couldn't tell you who was more proud. It's not like my father needed another reason to brag about his son-in-law, but I can bet the farm on the fact that Dad has taken every opportunity to tell everyone he knows how proud he is of the Hubs. How could you not be?

 **THE BAD**

You know how you hear stories from other parents about shit their kids do and you think, 'My kid would NEVER do that! It's just not like them!'. Don't kid yourself. Your little monster and my little monster are just alike, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise. In the middle of taping a birthday message for Billy the other night, Jackson started crying. He was picking at the side of his head, but considering the fact that he was getting over a head cold and was dead tired, I just chalked it up to him being cranky. As we finished up the video, his picking turned in to whimpering, which turned in to crying, then escalated to screaming. At first I was all, 'Holy over reaction, dude!', but then I got up and decided to look and see what was driving him so batshit crazy. To my surprise, when I bent his little head over I saw it. A Lego. In his ear. Jammed way in there. My initial reaction was to scream the oh so popular phrase known to all parents in this city, "What in the hell were you thinking!? Do you WANT to go to the hospital tonight?!". I should have known it wasn't going to help since screaming like a lunatic only proves you are, in fact, a fucking lunatic, but I couldn't contain myself. After years of saying, "Don't put stuff in your body holes EVER!", and hearing tales from other parents about kids using their orifices as fancy hiding places, I honestly thought we were safe from this particular medical emergency. Yep … I'm an idiot. As I frantically weighed the options in my head, imagining what it was going to like waiting in the Lightspeed Rescue Emergency Room with my screaming Lego cyborg child who would most likely cover the room in his own snot while harvesting all the germs of other children, it was quickly decided that I would attempt to dig that shit out myself. It was either coming out or getting pushed in further (which was going to happen anyways with the way Jackson was digging at his head), so I ran for the tweezers. The Hubs held his head as I started my careful decent towards my little child's brain with the sharpest pair of tweezers known to man, hoping and praying that no one moved a muscle. We all stood there around the supper table, the Hubs scared to breathe because at that moment I probably would have stabbed someone out of panic, Jackson making a weird squeaking sound that only happens after you've run out of fear and no longer know what sound to make, and I, getting ready to pass in my parenting card because somehow I missed the moment that my child jammed shit in his ear. What seemed like ten hours happened in a matter of two minutes. The Lego popped out like a ripe blackhead and all the world was right again. No wonder I have so many gray highlights these days … But hey at least he didn't shove it up his ass!

 **THE UGLY**

We knew it was coming. Just as poor old John Snow knew the white walkers were coming to fuck shit up, I knew the germs were coming with the start of the school year. One week after Jackson started preschool, both kids started showing signs and symptoms of plague season. First it was the fever, then the sniffles, followed by the sore throat. As the sun began to set on the third day, there was an overwhelming sense of doom that hung over our mucus covered house. Sick kids suck, but sick kids at night are like getting three STDs at one time. It was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better.

Moments after the Hubs and I settled in to bed, we heard it. That low, muttled, "Mmmmwwwhhhhaaaaaaaaa" that turns it to the louder, more demanding, "WHAAAAAAAA!", which we all know is the universal signal for, "Bitch, you ain't goin' to bed this night!". And we didn't. Jackson weak stomach combined with a few hours of snot swallowing erupted in to a night-long parade of snot-vomit trips to the bathroom, bed patting in search for globs of hidden vomit surprises, and the anticipation of random wails from the children that would make us both leap out of bed faster than we did the night Apple released their watch.

The next morning, we all could have used a lot of coffee and concealer. During school drop off, I'm 100% certain that the other Moms were judging me and my child who appeared to have two black eyes. In a fit of cranky parental rage, all I could think was, 'Let's see how pretty you look when my kid spreads his demon germs to your little precious!' [But in all seriousness, the teacher suggested to all parents that we continue to send our kids to school even if they have the cold simply because the entire class room was full of sickness for the first few weeks. There was no avoiding this disaster.]

There is no way to avoid this stuff. Life is a big ol' stewing pot of the goods, the bads, and the uglies. The best we can all do is just hope the goodness outweighs the ugliness, and the badness doesn't discover all the other new, fun places to stick Legos!

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	6. Chapter 5

WARNING: 18 and over only due to foul language

I've been hiding this for a few years, but it's time to come clean. This problem has caused me years of frustration, embarrassment, and countless hours of hiding and disguising in hope of keeping this secret hidden.

Jackson William Oliver is a toy-oholic.

That's right. My son – my sweet little demon child – has an unhealthy obsession with all things plastic and I have been hiding his shame from the moment he was able to sit up on his own.

It started innocently enough. Following the birth of Jackson, who just happened to be my parent's first grandchild, things started appearing in boxes at my doorstep. These brown moving boxes were packed tight with new clothes, books, blankets, and toys for my little boy, all lovely wrapped by Grammy herself. At first, I was delighted to see these boxes arrive. It was as exciting for me as it was for my baby! Who doesn't love a few surprises every now and then? As the months passed, the boxes kept coming. More toys, more clothes. It wasn't just Mom sending them, either. Soon, by little one's aunts and uncle got in on the box game and soon we were getting a box of goodies every single week. My son started anticipating the mailman's arrival and I couldn't help but wonder what power the mailman had over our family. He was the dealer and we were the peanut butter, poopie-diaper stanky junkies.

Time went on and our house began to fill up with random little knickknacks. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter … with each passing occasion we found ourselves getting more creative with the storage in efforts to pretend this all wasn't happening. Closets became toy boxes and under-bed storage became a jail of sorts for the million stuffed teddy bears (in this case, it was stuffed frogs & wolves to go with the teddy bears) that come along with the birth of any Power Ranger offspring. I had it under control. I was okay.

Then my child decided to walk.

With that fateful first step, my cover was blown and my little floppy baby had now become a toy-seeking force to be reckoned with. As fast as I could put toys away, he would find my stash and tear through it like a mom of five at a Wal-Mart anniversary sale. S**t got ugly. When he wasn't destroying my clean house, he was pacing back and forth around the house, waiting for the next toy fix. "Where the mail man?", he'd ask, hands shaking. "Grammy have me toys?", he'd mumble in his little 18 month old voice. Just as I'd convince him that there was nothing coming, BAM! The mailman would arrive and another box would be handed to me. I tried hiding them while my son was distracted, but he could sniff them out. The kid knows the smell of corrugated cardboard. I wasn't getting off that easy.

Fast forward to this week. After walking around my house, trying to find just one more little hole of space to stuff a cement truck the size of an end table, I snapped. Every toy in the upstairs of the house was emptied on to the living room floor. Every closet, every toy box, every bin I had hidden under beds, and every ottoman holding our dirty secrets were dumped. I looked at my demon spawn square in the eyes and let him know that this was enough. We had a problem and it was time to get it under control.

First, there was a wave of elation as the bounty of their years of toy hoarding was presented to them in a mass that had previously gone unseen by their little eyes. It was a mound of toys that easy valued in the tens of thousands of dollars. After five years of gathering and never really throwing anything away, my kid was experiencing the high of his life! Not kidding one bit – he swam around in that shit. Squealing in delight, he leaped on that pile of crap, never once noticing that they were getting covered in scratches and left over cereal bar pieces that somehow managed to live in the toy boxes for months. All was well and good until I started bagging that shit. I gave him a few toy boxes and told him to pick out his favorite stuff because the rest of it was going in the basement/Tommy's office until I had the courage to figure out what to do with it all. As Jackson scrambled, searching for his most prized possession, I was faced with the fact that we had become toy hoarders. I had allowed my beautiful house to become a crack den of sorts, if crack was cheap plastic toys from China.

After approximately 20 minutes, Jackson gave up the fight. He was no longer concerned with what made the cut and what was put in toy jail. I was in this battle alone and if I planned on making it out alive, I was going to have to search deep within my being and find that crazy organizer that every mother has in her.

It took me three days. Three. F***ing. Days.

As I vacuumed the remnants of the mess up – and no, I didn't stop to pick up ever damn little piece of Lego that was left in the pile – I made my peace with the mess. I was the mother of a small child and this problem was going to haunt me for the next ten years whether I liked it or not. Kill me. Seriously, kill me!

Mothers, we are in this together. No more hiding, no more excuses. No more, "Oh, that silly kid dumped out ALL his toys!" lies when Tanya, Aisha, Haley and/or Kimberly pop by unexpectedly and you know that Jackson has only taken out about 10% of his stash. It's time to own this! Yes, you will find toys hidden on the tops of my cupboards! Yes, I keep every little piece of every toy set the child has ever gotten out of fear that one day he'll need that piece! Yes, I still let my parent's buy my kid s**t and I still have to find places to put that crap! But – BUT! I will no longer hide from my own creation. The next time we have more than I can handle, I will bust out those fucking Costco bags and take care of business. I'll never let another five years pass by before I take charge again. Enough with the dirty little secrets.

Or, maybe I'll just drink away my worries until he heads to Reefside University. Burn this house down once he's gone and buy a motor home. Who knows.

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	7. Chapter 6

WARNING: 18 and over only due to foul language

I have always been amazed by parents who choose to take their kids on vacation. Not just a, "Let's go for a drive!" kind of thing, but a real, honest to goodness, get on a plane with a young toddler kind of vacation. Just the thought of it gives me crippling anxiety.

Adam & Kimberly are FINALLY getting married this summer and it means everything to them that their friends & family are there. That means that I have to face my fears and step on a plane with Jackson & Tommy, fly across the country, and hope that no one has an epic meltdown. Since hearing of their engagement, I have been dreading this moment for many reasons. It's not that I don't want to go – seeing him get married will be one of the happiest moments of my life – but there is so many things that can and will go wrong.

First, the cost. Remember that post about us saving our money to keep our family finances in check? Well, flying a family of four from Reefside to Tampa Bay, Florida is bloody murder on the pocket book when only one parent works (that's Tommy). It would be the same as if we were paying on our SUV for another year. Having seen how hard my husband worked to get that sucker paid off, it killed me to put him back in the negative for plane tickets. We searched for cheaper flights, thought of all the possible ways to make it more affordable, made calls, did our research, but nothing panned out. It sucked. The only option we were left with was leaving the kids and the Hubs home and I would go alone. Knowing that this would be a huge disappointment to Adam, I called his Mom to see what would be the best way to let him know that the rest of the guests couldn't make it. His mother wasn't going to let that happen. Before I could even explain the issues, she said she would buy one of our tickets. To her, family is more important then saving a few $$$. She wouldn't dare tell of us leaving anyone behind or reaching in to our rainy day funds to get to the wedding, knowing all of the work that the Hubs put in keeping our family financially stable. She will never know how thankful we both are to have her help.

So, with the money situation figured out, now I have to deal with the fact that in a few short months, we will be traveling for half a day. I know, everyone does it. People head to Disneyland all the time, kid & husband in tow, without issue. However, they aren't traveling with Jackson.

What can go wrong? These are my fears.

1\. Vomit. Jackson likes to vomit. All reasons are a good reason to vomit. Any parent of a vomitter (is that even a word?) knows what I'm talking about. In the face of any type of confrontation, my son will usually choose spewing the contents of his stomach in a wildly dramatic fashion instead of dealing like a normal child. Since discovering that he could get us to take him out of his crib by puking on everything (Thanks, CIO. You're a fucktard.), he has used puking as a way to control stressful situations. Kids are no idiots, and mine has reached ninja-level when it comes to creating a scene. I can't help but imagine us sitting on the plane, beginning the take off, and watching Jackson cover the rows ahead of us in a steaming pile of muffin and bile as we head in to the clouds. What would a person in my situation write on a card to warn other passengers (like the lady that passed out candy and earplugs)? "Dear flight partners, please take this poncho and tranqulizer as a thank you for not having me arrested when my child covers you in puke. I appreciate your cooperation and hope that none gets in your mouth. Much love, the frazzled parents of disgusting child in Row 22."

2\. The questions. In a run of a day, I get asked at least 947 questions about anything and everything. My child has been in this house his entire life, yet they still feel the need to ask the same questions over and over again just to piss me off. "Why are the walls brown? Who bought the couch? Why is the sun right there? Where is the kitchen? Why do I have clothes on? Can I have a snack? Why do you poop? Where is my green thing? When is Daddy coming home? Can we buy a toy?" That shit never ends. I have become so use to making up total lies to the boring questions (because I can't help but mess with the little bastard) that I have to make an effort to give proper answers on the rare occasion that I actually get to talk to adults. Putting the kid in a new environment means the questions will be new and embarrassing. "Why is that man bald? Who farted? Why is that woman so big? Where do I go poop? Can I lick that? Why is my bum itchy? Why do the seats smell? Can I touch that person's hair? When do we land? Who burped?". I am use to it but lord help the poor bastards sitting around us. I may need to make more cards and get more drugs to pass around.

3\. The meltdowns. So many meltdowns and so much time for them to happen! As already pointed out, bad things happen when my kid melts down. If I could predict them with any accuracy I wouldn't mind so much, but my kid can & will melt down for the most random reasons in record time. "The pillow touched my face!" Meltdown. "My chair is blue!" Meltdown. "I had a thought about a thing and now I can't remember the thing!" Meltdown. "That person looked at me!" Meltdown. All things have the potential to bring on a meltdown, which then brings on the vomit, which then brings on the pooping, which then brings on beginning of the end. We will be banned from ever using airlines again and will be forced to live in Billy's mansion for the rest of our days. I know, I know. Fuck me.

I could write a thousand more reasons why this trip is probably going to end with my family being the center of some buzzfeed list of the worst parents in Reefside, but I can't. Why? Because my son is currently attempting to eat a piece of chalk and a nickel at the same time. I need a drink.

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	8. Chapter 7

While I was pregnant, I practically lived on Chipotle burritos. One day, in my first trimester, I had a barbacoa burrito for a late lunch; marinated, delicious beef and lots of it. I ate the entire thing quite quickly and got a tummy ache. As many of you know, your body can do some strange things during pregnancy, and even though your baby is in your uterus, your tummy and digestion go all nutso. I spent the rest of the afternoon stepping away from people.

Tommy, being supportive and a nervous expectant dad, was picking me up from work everyday, so I would not have to ride the bus home.

It was a cool fall day, Tommy had been working outside and was anxious to warm up. He objected to the open passenger side window. But my colon was busy objecting to the Barbacoa burrito.

"Can you close that window? I'm freezing over here."

"I can, but I don't think you want me to, because I had a barbacoa burrito for lunch," as I was saying this, Tommy was rolling up my window and I let go of perhaps the stinkiest fart in the history of Reefside.

"Oh, dear _GOD_!" Tommy cried as the smell wafted to the drivers side. " You had a what? A _FARTA_ coa burrito?"

My body convulsed with laughter, releasing even more horrific gas as Tommy groped for the switch to roll the window back down.

And down it stayed.

Be kind be caring be kinky


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: 18 and over only due to foul language

First off, sorry for dropping the blogging ball! It's been almost a month since my last post and I've been asked almost daily why I haven't written a new post recently. Want to know why? It's because I'm a lazy fucker at times and my son comes above all else. When I have minimal energy, the thought of writing and editing (don't laugh! I do make an effort to catch all the shitty grammar) is about as appealing as a visit to the dentist. However, I am still full of thoughts and posts. Now, with New Year's Eve weekend wrapping up, I'm back on the Mac saddle and ready to delight and horrify you all with my thoughts about stuff. The hope is to pump out a post or two a week. Feel free to yell at me when I slack. Accountability is an awesome motivator! If it contains creative cuss words? Even better.

So …

Facebook has really changed the way we all experience holidays. Over the past 8 or so years, we have gone from a society of people visiting one another to see wonderfully decorated houses, calling to hear what Santa left under the tree, and cuddling in corners to gossip over who cheated on who at the holiday party, to a bunch of internet stalkers.

Facebook has made us all snoopy little bastards.

I'm not going to lie – I love a good Facebook creep – but there are issues that arise when the holidays hit and you are forced out from behind the soft glow of your cyber gossip mill in to a room full of people you haven't seen or spoken to in years.

A few months back, I made it a point to clean out my Facebook friends list. After hearing from a credible source that my Facebook posts and statuses had become a big focus of certain individuals obsessive gossiping, I felt it was time to clear out the ol' list. Once I started, I couldn't stop! My cuts were fast and furious, comparable to a back alley Hollywood plastic surgeon. My reasons were sound – If you didn't like me, gone. If I didn't like you, gone. If you felt the need to discuss my Facebook with others to the point of suggesting I'm an unfit parent, gone. (My hometown in Australia may be little, but it has big ears and an even bigger mouth! News travels fast.) If you felt the need to use the bible to tell me why the LGBT community should rot in hell? GONE. If we hadn't spoke in 15 years and we were only friends to spy on one another? Gone. If you saw me at the grocery store and didn't even acknowledge my existence but started liking my pictures the minute I got home? Gone.

I was slashing that list like it was my purpose in life! That shit felt gooooooooooood. Everyone should re-examine who they're choosing to spend their cyber life with. The only problem? Coming face-to-face with a victim of the cull and waiting to see if there going to be any backlash.

It happened a few times this Christmas and I was supremely weirded out. It was like there was this underlying tension that no one wanted to bring up, but everyone knew what was going on (or at least in my mind it felt that way.) Slight passive aggressive mentions of "Oh, I saw such and such on Facebook," and, "So and So had to show me that picture," were muttered as we all sat around discussing life and shit. It was like my business had become public property, and by preventing their involvement in my day-to-day goings on I had some how committed the crime of the century. I mean, I totally get the sting of getting cut by someone you find interesting on Facebook. No one wants to be on the neck-out end of the chopping block, but that's just life. We aren't everyone's cup of tea, and that's just the reality of life. However, acting like a child because you can't see my kid picking his nose in the back garden is creepy. Deciding that Christmas is a good time to give me the shifty eye over a cyber issue is creepy. Christmas is a time of dirty Uncles looking at your boobs, not a time for attempting to shame someone you didn't really like in the first place.

So, to those of you I've cut from my list: Here's the deal. If you talked shit about me and then ended up cut, it's because I know. I know what you say behind closed doors about me calling my son a little asshole. Trust me, he'll survive and will most likely thrive! My relationship with you, not so much. If we haven't talked in years but you think we should? Re-add me and talk to me. We'd most likely be good friends as long as you don't mind my sense of humour. If you're gone and you have no clue why? I was probably trying to protect you from my sense of humour. It isn't everyone's idea of a good time (the comments on this blog alone tell me that I've got a pretty broad hater's club!), but if I've misjudged you, add me. Then send me jokes that will make me laugh!

This year is a year full of resolutions. I'm done living for others. No longer will I treat others with kid gloves, nor will I be the bossy bitch that others have come to identify me with. I'm living for me, for my son, and on good days, for my husband. The rest of you are welcomed to join me in this ride, but if you lose your ticket that's your problem, not mine.

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	10. Chapter 9

Dear Jackson,

Mommy and daddy mixed a little more than drinks over the holidays and now you're in for a big change: You are going to have a baby brother or sister! We will make it up to you, we promise! We love you very much & nothing will ever change that, not even a new baby!

Love,

Mommy

P.S. Please stop putting your orange slices in Daddy's coffee!


	11. Chapter 10

So I thought I had gotten off pretty easy being that I haven't really had much morning sickness to speak of. Or so I thought.

What I have been experiencing is constant hunger, the kind that makes you want to gnaw your hand off and feel like you are going to absolutely DIE if you don't eat.

So much so, that I have gained 10 lbs in the 7 weeks since I found out I was pregnant. For those of you that don't know, that is ridiculous, you are only supposed to gain about 4-5 lbs for your entire first trimester, if that!

The hunger is perplexing because it persists at inexplicable times, for example 15 minutes after I finish a meal.

I finally found out through some researching that SOME women experience as hunger what others experience as nausea, so basically I have had morning sickness, just that mine makes me inhale food instead of well, the opposite.

The other area where I seem to defy the norm is that I am 9 weeks and 1 day pregnant and I am most definitely showing.

Everything I read says you don't typically show until closer to 15-20 weeks.

See the semi-circle that has become my tummy? I never had that before. The thing about me is that when I gain weight, I never gain it in my stomach which has always been totally flat, instead I gain it in my butt, thighs and love handles. That is where the 10lbs is, not my stomach which for all its convexness is rock hard, not an inch to pinch.

I also wonder if the fact that my uterus is tipped severely forward also makes it sort of stand out more.

The good news about the hunger actually being morning sickness is that it means it should actually end around the same time that normal morning sickness does, at the beginning of the second trimester, which is only about 2-3 weeks away.

My ass and thighs can't wait!


	12. Chapter 11

I got back home from work to the most wonderful welcome – a fire in the fireplace, most of the house unpacked (thanks to Tommy!) and tons of hugs and kisses from my little guy who I missed TERRIBLY.

This morning it was back to reality and a visit to my RE's office for an ultrasound and blood-work. I knew the second the image came up that there was more than one.

WHAT? Yep, two sacs.

Nurse Dana looked a little surprised, she stopped for second to look at my chart again and then back at the screen. Baby A was measuring perfectly, one day ahead actually at 6 weeks 5 days and we immediately spotted and then heard the heard the heartbeat -it was a little loud at first for Jackson's taste (he covered his ears!) but when I told him what it was he thought it was pretty cool.

Baby B is more than an empty sac, there is a yolk sac (not sure about a fetal pole) but there was no heartbeat. I'm not sure what the odds are at this point that Baby B will be viable, but I DO know that at 6 weeks 5 days a heartbeat should be at the very least visible if not audible, so my guess is that it's more of a longshot than anything. It didn't look SO much smaller than Baby A, but I'm certain that it did implant later or we would have most likely seen it at the first scan so I guess there is a small chance it could pull through – of course we have to wait another long nail-biting week to know for sure!

I do know that my HCG levels are pretty sky high, 52,775 at the equivalent of 32 dpo (29days post 3 day transfer) and I've been experiencing much worse morning sickness than I did with Jackson.

Dana, who called me with the HCG levels, told me I could decrease my progesterone level to half what I've been injecting. Half the dosage, not half the shots unfortunately. She also told me I need to start thinking about what OB I'll be using so they can transfer my records as I'll likely get discharged next week from the clinic!

Of course I'm totally unprepared for that, I haven't really thought about whether I want to stay with the hospital where Jackson was born. It doesn't have a NICU and I wasn't happy at ALL with the postpartum and pediatric care I received there even though the labor & delivery team is amazing. If it's twins of course I'll be looking for a hospital with a high level NICU and that will change my pool of possible OBs or midwives completely.

So much to think about.. on so many levels.

Be kind be caring be kinky


	13. Chapter 12

While I was pregnant, I practically lived on Chipotle burritos. One day, in my first trimester, I had a barbacoa burrito for a late lunch; marinated, delicious beef and lots of it. I ate the entire thing quite quickly and got a tummy ache. As many of you know, your body can do some strange things during pregnancy, and even though your baby is in your uterus, your tummy and digestion go all nutso. I spent the rest of the afternoon stepping away from people.

Tommy, being supportive and a nervous expectant dad, was picking me up from work everyday, so I would not have to ride the bus home.

It was a cool fall day, Tommy had been working outside and was anxious to warm up. He objected to the open passenger side window. But my colon was busy objecting to the Barbacoa burrito.

"Can you close that window? I'm freezing over here."

"I can, but I don't think you want me to, because I had a barbacoa burrito for lunch," as I was saying this, Tommy was rolling up my window and I let go of perhaps the stinkiest fart in the history of Reefside.

"Oh, dear _GOD_!" Tommy cried as the smell wafted to the drivers side. " You had a what? A _FARTA_ coa burrito?"

My body convulsed with laughter, releasing even more gas as Tommy groped for the switch to roll the window back down.

And down it stayed.

Be kind be caring be kinky


	14. Chapter 13

"You're not sexy, you're pregnant!"

Such were my husband's words to me when I put on my favorite pink sweatshirt

I guess he thought I was showing too much pregnancy cleavage. Actually his exact words were "You're not sexy Kat, you're pregnant Kat!".

Even he knew that one came out badly and hopefully not how he meant it, but I changed the shirt anyway that night.

But yesterday I decided to wear it anyway because A) I'm mad at Dr. Oliver right now and B) It's only going to fit my belly for about another week or so.


	15. Chapter 14

Tommy was cleaning out the spare room-turned-nursery for the twins. He found a letter I had written when I was 8 months pregnant with Jackson & here it is...

Dearest son,

What will you look like? What will you smell like? Will you have your daddy's hair and my skin? I picture you with a mop of dark locks and big brown eyes. Handsome like your daddy and pale skinned like me. I think you will smell like pure joy and the occasional bit of vomit but that's ok, we'll take the good with the bad.

Will you be as big as you feel inside my belly right now? You feel strong and long limbed. You've been trying to break my ribs for weeks now I'm sure of it. The doctors think you'll be a very healthy sized baby but looking at your daddy's build, that's no surprise. Long legged like me and broad-shouldered like dad.

What will you be like? Calm like your daddy, slightly eccentric like me? A night owl with him or an early riser with me? Your Aunt Kimberly insists you will be a night owl, based on the series of kicks you give me from 7pm every night. A sign of things to come she says – an active baby belly at nighttime means trouble for your sleeping pattern. I think I'm ready either way. You haven't let me sleep properly in weeks now, so my body feels prepared for late nights, early mornings and catching a nap wherever I can.

What will we do? My days will be so different to those I have now. I'll have you to look after and I'm not sure exactly how that's supposed to go. I see us taking some time to figure each other out but slowing falling into a routine that's just for us. I think we'll take walks to the beach and I'll watch you sleep and when daddy comes home you'll make him smile like no one else can. I know I won't do all of it right every day. I'll mess up along the way. There will be tears from the both of us but I promise I'll do my best. I'm new at this too, but we'll figure it out.

Where will you go? I bought a picture for your bedroom the other day. It's a quote by Dr Seuss. "Oh, the places you'll go" Dr Seuss proclaims. I know you'll go far. You'll have the drive of your mummy and the travel bug like your daddy, I'm sure of it. I don't see you being a wallflower. Not with our genes. You'll be bold and brave and want to challenge yourself and the world. Go everywhere. Do everything. Just make sure I know where you are.

What will you be? Whatever you want is the answer! If poppy gets his way, you'll be a Power Ranger. If daddy teaches you well enough, you may be a famous guitarist. I think you'll be creative and smart. I think you'll leave your mark on the world as well as our hearts. I think you'll be amazing at whatever you choose. I think you'll always be yourself and that is perfection to me.

What will I be like? Being your mum is a pretty big deal. I still can't quite believe that I get to meet you soon and that you chose us to be your family. I feel full of something I can't quite describe. It's a fear of the unknown mixed with an almighty sense of joy and excitement about what our future holds. I never knew that I wanted you so badly, but now you are on your way, I have never been so sure of anything in my life.

I don't know what I'll be like as your mum. I know that I'll work harder at this than I have ever worked on anything in my life. I know I wont be perfect but that I will give you the best I possibly can. I know that I will make sure you never go without and that you know you are loved every single day. I know that I'll kiss you too often and probably embarrass you along the way. I know one day you'll be taller than me but that I'll still call you my baby. I know that I'll be proud of you no matter what and that whoever you become I will support you. I know that from now until forever, you will be my son and I will be your mum. I know that I love you to the moon and back and you're not even here yet.

I can't wait to meet you.

Love your mummy. x


	16. Chapter 15

A/N I am jumping Kat's pregnancy ahead to week #31 She is having twin girls. I'm still stuck on their names though.

This Monday's bi-weekly scan of the twiglets by the MFM (high risk OB) yielded some good news! Baby A (little baby) has caught up a bit to big baby B! They are both currently over 3 lbs.. which I think is pretty darn good for twins at 31 weeks. More importantly, their size difference is decreasing rather than increasing, which bodes well both for little baby's overall risk as well as my wish for a vaginal delivery (or at least an attempt at one?)

The other result was a 3D ultrasound pic of big Baby B. If you can get past the frankenstein thing going on at the top of her head and the fact that it looks like her eye melted off, I think she looks gorgeous – well her nose and lips and little chin anyway!

Baby A is closer to my cervix and is much harder to get pictures of, so this was the only "good one."

The heart-melting moment came when I showed Jackson the picture of his sisters at dinner and pointed out where their lips and nose were.

His response was to grab the picture from my hand and kiss them right on the lips.

My heart melted!

I didn't think I'd experience that "seeing my kids together loving each other" moment of love and pride until the girls actually arrived. But thanks to the miracle of modern technology, I've already had a taste and can't wait for more…


	17. Chapter 16

A/N I am once again, skipping ahead in Kat's pregnancy this time to 38 weeks

So, things didn't exactly go as planned this week. As far as the GIRLS, they both did everything right, they are head down, only about 12% difference in size. It's my BODY that won't cooperate!

When I went in for an internal Thursday my cervix was COMPLETELY closed, high, not even soft or effaced. I.e: unfavorable for an induction. Despite all my strong Braxton hix, cramps etc, my cervix just does NOT want to do what it's supposed to do. Bad memories of being in labor with Jackson and taking 12 hours to get from 0-2cm!

The bottom line is that garden variety OBs like mine are VERY uncomfortable delivering twins past 38 weeks (they talk about risks of cord entanglement, still birth, low fluid etc etc). Now I'm pretty sure from reading and doing research that there may not be too much truth to this, but I've had the sneaking suspicion that my body just does NOT want to go into labor, similar to how it did not with Jackson, which is why I carried him 41+ weeks. That is simply not an option for me at this point..

I've barely managed to survive until 38, I really don't think I can take another day. And there's NO way they would let me go until when I think my body would be ready.

The other factor that's been haunting me is that my baseline of discomfort is so ridiculously high, that the idea of LABORING on top of it is frankly inconceivable. In fact, at the MFM on Wednesday for my non-stress test I was actually crying from the back pain, gas pains and lack of oxygen from being on my back for so long. How would I ever survive labor?

I do admit I feel a bit as if I'm giving up the good fight..but these are the choices I made a while back when I decided to opt for a hospital with a higher-level NICU (in case the girls were born early) rather than a hospital where midwives would deliver me (like where I had Jackson.) But it is what it is. Tomorrow I'll be a mom of THREE!

I would write more, a LOT more, but it's my last few hours with Jackson and he's dying for my attention right now..more later when I can!


	18. Chapter 17

A/N Kat has given birth to the twins! The names are Trini & Evelyn (Trini is obviously named after the original Yellow Ranger while Evelyn is named after Kat's grandmother)

It's about time for this tired mama to finally write down some memories of the twiglets' birth before amnesia by sleep-deprivation sets in – if it hasn't already!

If you had been following along with my pregnancy updates, you will remember that at my final OB appointment at just under 38 weeks my cervix was as closed as fort knox and ruled "unfavorable for induction." This seemed to surprise everyone but me – one of the OBs had already told me I'd NEVER make it to 38 weeks, but I knew better.. after having carried Jackson to 41+ weeks and then laboring for about 12 hours to get to about 2cm I had more than just a suspicion that I would be able to carry my girls all the way to 40 weeks or even beyond if allowed.

But for some reason the medical community has this idea that 38 weeks is as far as a twin pregnancy should go – which I'm not entirely sure I believe, but what I DID believe is that I don't think I could have survived a day over 38 weeks in the condition that I was in. Because the weeks proceeding the the twiglets birth were so crazy for me with releasing my app etc, I didn't blog much about what it was like those last few months being pregnant with twins.. so let me fill you in just a tiny bit.

I was in pain – a lot of pain – as a result of Pubic Symphasis disorder (pelvic instability which cause a ton of sharp pain doing even the most simple of activities like walking!) and could barely breathe. Lying down was uncomfortable, sitting up was uncomfortable – lying on my back was perhaps the most uncomfortable of all! A fact that I was reminded of all to frequently at my weekly NSTs (non stress tests) at the MFM where they would attempt to monitor both girls' heartbeats while I lay on my back for 20+ minutes – tears rolling down my face from the amount of pressure on my lower back AND the feeling of not being able to breathe – like an elephant was sitting on my chest.

I was essentially an invalid – in the end I stopped driving, would only go to stores if they had an electric cart or wheel chair and even went on our hospital tour in a wheel-chair. If I was on my feet walking for more than 2 minutes I'd have contractions and between that and the pelvic pain it was unbearable.

Going in for the pre-op testing 48 hours before my scheduled c-section was no exception, I got around the large hospital in a wheel-chair – that Jackson insisted on pushing! Yes, we did hit a few walls:

OK, so enough of the preamble… the decision was made, right or wrong and the C-section was set for 7:15 am October 1st, which entailed us getting up at 4:45am in order to be at the hospital by 5:15am.

OK, so we arrived and I went up to Labor & Delivery while Tommy parked the car and there were two staff members (nurses? I still don't know what they were) there to "prep" me for surgery. Things got off to a bad start when they told me they needed to do a NST. I mentioned before that the NST is SUPER uncomfortable for me, AND very difficult to actually get both heartbeats on the monitor. At my MFM we sometimes had to use the ultrasound just to figure out their positioning in order to find the heartbeats, particularly Trini's as she was anterior and really far down and to the right.

Predictably, these two women could NOT find the heartbeats and gave up after a few minutes, but left me in a very uncomfortable position in the bed with the ultrasound goo on my belly which made my severely overstretched and highly sensitive skin INCREDIBLY itchy and basically chatted to each other the entire time. Neither of them filled us in on what was about to happen or saw to it that I was at least comfortable, so I had Tommy adjust the bed into a position I could tolerate and we wiped of the ultrasound goo.

Unfortunately this is when I also found out that they would NOT allow Kimberly in to take photographs of the actual birth – it's not mentioned in the hospital literature which only says that 1 partner and 1 "support person" can be present at the delivery (it doesn't exclude c-sections from this statement which is odd given that the c-section rate at Reefside hospital is around 30%!).

That was disappointing, but they explained that particularly with twins there is very little room due to the extra staff members to take care of two babies post-delivery etc etc.

At any rate, after I'm in my gown and Tommy had gotten dressed in scrubs, they wheel me in to the OR by myself to start the spinal.

OUCH! I don't know if it's because I had the epidural during my labor with Jackson and so in comparison to the contractions it seemed painless, but I don't remember it hurting nearly as much as the spinal which seemed to have a lot more pricks/pinches because the local is injected and THEN the spinal.

It took effect immediately and they brought Tommy in and began.

I have to say the whole experience was completely surreal. In comparison to Jackson's birth, it didn't really seem as much like a birth to me so much as an operation and "oh, here are your babies!" I can't describe it, it's just such a PASSIVE experience compared to laboring and pushing out a baby. I hope that doesn't offend anyone who has birthed by c-section only, I don't mean to imply that your children didn't have proper births at all, that's just how the difference in experience felt to me at the time.

The one true magical moment to me was peeking through to the right of the curtain when they brought baby A (Trini) over to the warmer – seeing her for the first time the overwhelming reality set in that "OMG we are having babies here!" set in and I just couldn't believe how beautiful she was with her full head of black hair – my DAUGHTER! Tears started sliding down my checks at that point and somewhere amidst all that emotion Evelyn was born just a minute later. My girls were here!

I don't remember too much except asking my OB (only half joking) when I could get a tummy tuck! She must have taken pity on my because she said something very kind about how thin I was that she barely was able to find enough fat under the skin to stitch the incision or something like that..

The next thing I remember we were wheeled into a nice large recovery room where I was told that we had to wait until I could move my legs before they brought me the girls. So I tried REALLY hard to will my legs to move which they did after 30 minutes or so and then Kimberly was allowed to come in and the girls too, so she was able to capture our first few hours as a family!

Later that night, my parents came by with proud big brother Jackson.. and I will never ever forget the LOVE he had in his heart for his baby sisters from the 1st second that he saw them!

The rest of our stay at the hospital was, well.. interesting. Suffice it to say the hospital was NOT up to it's supposed "award winning mother baby unit" reputation, culminating in the ridiculous episode where they actually got our twins mixed up and freaked out because they thought Evelyn had lost 6 oz in one day! Um no, you just got them confused. Because they look so alike (being sarcastic here!)


	19. Chapter 18

A/N Fast forward to the twins turning 6 weeks old

I have SO many posts to write, including: the Huggies wipes induced nasty diaper rash, breastfeeding twins challenges, the items I can't live without, thoughts on being a second time parent, and some recent Jacksonisms. My hope is that by jotting down the titles here it will hold me accountable to find the time to write them..

There is soooo little time in the day between the tit feedings. And if I need to do ONE thing that day even as simple as taking a shower, or giving the babies a bath it seems to take up all the "free time" I have and my productivity for anything but baby care is basically zero – which unfortunately includes blogging.

But I did want to pop in and acknowledge (if not write about) the fact that the girls turned 6 weeks on Thursday, which also marks the halfway point of my maternity leave before they go to full time daycare. Holy FUCK it goes fast the second time.

As far as me and my recovery, I'm feeling 100% recovered from my c-section, but NOT from the pregnancy…

I gained 80 lbs and have lost 60. Unfortunately though I lost that 60 lbs about 4 weeks ago and haven't budged since! Even more concerning though is that I have a SEVERE diastasis recti, (abdominal muscle separation) which does not seem to be getting better and means that I still have a huge bump. I still look about 5 months pregnant and I HATE it. I also have had MAJOR post-partum gas! (But that's for a future post!)

I've searched the internet in vain for information that this is normal after twins and that it will get better, but all I find are annoying posts about people who are back at their pre-pregnancy weight the day after giving birth (Ok, I'm exaggerating, but not by much!) and none who have such a severe separation (it's the size of my fist at least.)

I have my post partum follow up next Tuesday and will obviously get some advice from my OB, but in the meantime I ordered the Tuppler technique DVD and ab splint (I've been wearing the Belly Bandit splint but not as religiously as I should be, and I should have started WAY earlier) and will start a regiment to try to repair the separation naturally. Otherwise I'm afraid surgery is the only answer.

I just want to feel/look even slightly like my old self sometime in the not-too distant future. Or barring that, at least feel like I'm progressing – even if slowly – in that direction. The alternative is too depressing to contemplate.

OK, hopefully I'll be back soon with some more uplifting posts!


	20. Chapter 19

I'd be crying like Evelyn too if I had such bad diaper rash!

Jackson never had anything like it so I was a bit unprepared for it – our go to Weleda Diaper care I'd always used for Jackson wasn't helping the incredibly angry and chapped redness that both girls developed almost overnight a few days ago…

It took me a day or so to put two and two together, but the onset coincided EXACTLY with us running out of the Costco Kirkland brand wipes and starting to use Huggies "sensitive" wipes that we picked up at the drugstore (because who has time to go to Costco on even a semi-regular basis anymore?)

I noticed once we started using them how incredibly wet the Huggies wipes were.. like so wet they would never let the baby's bottom dry off completely before putting on another diaper. Unless you have like all the time in the world and want to tempt fate by hanging out for a few minutes sans diaper. But whoever has the time to do that CLEARLY does not have twins, and most certainly doesn't have a twin named Trini who likes to save her pee for the exact moment that I am changing her.

Within 24 hours of using the Huggies wipes the rash came on fast and furious and the Weleda Diaper care wasn't curbing it. Having finally figured out the cause, we switched back to the Kirkland brand wipes but still needed a CURE for the raging rash.

Thanks to a desperate plea for advice on FB about which cream to use for severe diaper rash, we ran out and bought Triple Cream which in combination with the wipes change has healed them in less than 48 hours.

The purpose of this post is two-fold: a) Avoid the Huggies sensitive wipes like the plague and b) Triple paste is a god-send for sore bottoms.. I will now never be without it!


	21. Chapter 20

I came across an entire website recently that is devoted to breastfeeding twins.. and it has a spot where women share sort of their personal journey of breastfeeding almost the same way that one would share a birth story.

I figured it's worth writing about because this is actually one of the first things everyone asks me when they find out I have twins! And they seem rather shocked when I reply that yes I'm breastfeeding them exclusively. Honestly even my pediatrician and lactation consultant seem a little shocked that both girls are so gigantic and have never even been supplemented on formula!

This is not due exclusively to some heroic effort on my part, though I can't say it's been a walk in the park..

The truth is that I almost feel like I was born to breastfeed twins because I have/had a pretty massive oversupply. The force of my let-down used to blow poor Jackson away! I had to block feed him (meaning one breast per feeding only) to keep it down but it still was pretty out of control. The twins struggle with my let down as well, especially poor Evelyn because like Jackson she has Laryngomalacia which causes her to choke often when feeding. The fire-hose effect of the let down just makes that even more likely to happen!

But, when breastfeeding twins (particularly not in tandem -more on that later) an oversupply is a blessing, not only because it means I have plenty of milk for both babies but because with the massive amount of milk that they transfer during my let down, then only need to be on the breast for about 5-10 minutes each. That's not to say they don't linger longer when they feel like it, but I'd say they average about 10 minutes each. Thank GOD. Otherwise I would literally feel like they were attached to my boobs 24/7!

The last time my Lactation consultant came for a home visit we weighed Trini before and after a feeding but we unlatched her about 5 minutes in (or maybe she choked and came off, I can't remember!) and just for fun measured her after. She had taken in 5 ounces in that 5 minutes! And like I said they both nurse longer than 5 minutes so I really think they are taking in at LEAST 6 ounces in a complete feeding, which is a lot.. and probably explains why they are gigantic chunk-a-lunks!

So that's the good part. The bad part is that we have/have had some latching issues which are challenging.

For one thing, Trini has an incredible pinchy latch and her suck is SUPER STRONG. So what happened in the hospital was that we started out tandem feeding and thanks to Trini my nipples were getting sorer and sorer..culminating to the day at home a week or two later when I called a L.C. to the house out of desperation, crying because they were so sore and I couldn't take it anymore!

She wisely advised me to give myself permission to NOT tandem feed them. This allowed me to much more effectively control Trini's latch and even unlatch and re-latch her if necessary – this is really challenging to do when you don't have any hands free like you don't when you tandem feed newborns! Also because Evelyn chokes and comes off sometimes it's much better to have free hands to take her off the breast and hold her upright while she starts breathing normally again. I do hope that someday when they can essentially latch themselves we will be able to tandem feed, but for now sequential feeding is working OK for us. Besides, I rather like the one on one time with each baby which can be all too scarce when caring for twins!

To address Trini's painful latch, I went to the same craniosacral therapist who had worked on Jackson to try to get Trini to loosen up her vice-like grip on my nipples. The other problem we had was that she wouldn't open her mouth at the breast! It was sooo frustrating. I would try everything: tickling her nose with my nipple, tickling her lips, expressing some milk onto her lips.. her response was either pursed lips or she would "lap" the milk up off her lips like a little kitten! In those moments I would put her down on the bed and wait for her to cry and then basically force my breast into her mouth at which point she would start sucking incredibly vigorously but tightly and too shallow and destroy my nipple.

In craniosacral she worked on loosening Trini's latch and she also helped me position Trini and showed me how to wait for her to open her mouth on her own which she did once I started positioning her better. It was completely pain free during my visits with her! I am unable to recreate that completely pain free nursing like we had in those sessions probably because I'm not latching 100% correctly but also because Trini's latch regresses to pinchy when she uses the pacifier (which requires a tight pinchy latch to keep it in her mouth!).. it undoes a lot of the good loosening work that the cranial sacral achieves. But hey, not using a pacifier with twins is not really an option – not unless I want exponentially more fussing and screaming!

So things really improved 3 weeks ago at our second visit to the Craniosacral practitioner. But a week or so later a new problem emerged which is that both girls (but Trini much more than Evelyn) are "clicking" excessively at the breast. This clicking is actually them losing suction which means air is getting sucked in to the belly.. which means gas. Also, with Trini this means that even if I latch her deeply, during my let down she starts clicking and losing the latch and getting shallower with each click which traumatizes my nipple slightly. I'm debating what avenues I can pursue (if any) to try and address the clicking or just hope they grow out of it soon.

That's my breastfeeding story so far – just in case anyone was interested ;)


	22. Chapter 21

We've spoken about discipline before, but Jackson was a bit younger and less able to understand consequences. Redirection is fine, but what if he repeats the behavior over and over again?

Every morning when I go into the bathroom to put on my makeup Jackson runs to this ledge in front of the bath and climbs on it. I wouldn't mind so much if he just sat there like is doing in these pictures, but most of the time he's crawling around, leaning over the bath, turning on the hot water etc. The tile is hard and would not be a very forgiving place to fall, not to mention that he shouldn't be turning on hot water faucets!

No matter how many times I tell him sternly "NO!" or even forcibly remove him from the bathroom and close the door (leaving him crying on the other side) as soon as I open the door again he runs right back up.

He is also in the habit of constantly turning the burners up or down on the stove when something is cooking on the stove top.. my "No" elicits fits of laughter, even though I carry him away and sit him down somewhere else. Clearly he thinks it is some sort of game. Redirecting him works in the moment, but it isn't teaching him not to repeat the behavior.

Even worse, he very recently started biting me! Clearly this is a behavior that he must learn is completely unacceptable, but I'm at a loss on how to instill this in him.

I am anti corporal punishment, if only because I know that even my mild "roughness" with him when I pick him up and move him away elicits a sort of aggressive response in him – he starts to hit in the air, etc. I don't want him learning agressive behavior from his parents.

Please share what, if anything, has worked for you to end undesirable behaviors (or at least curb them!)..


	23. Chapter 22

For months now I've been collecting little tidbits planning on writing a post about Jackson and how he's taken to the sister invasion.

People ALWAYS ask, and it's a fair question – the arrival of one sibling is cause for concern for many first-born, let alone TWO!

Well I'm happy to report that somehow we must have managed to "plan" the age gap in the perfect way because Jackson is madly in love with his sisters. Or maybe it's because they are girls and he doesn't feel as threatened by them? Or maybe he's just an extraordinary little boy with a huge heart. I prefer the later hypothesis as it has the most evidence.

He is forever telling his sisters how beautiful they are, even going so far as to tell me he loves them so much it "makes him sad" (a preschooler's version of "I love you so much it hurts?"). He talks to them, makes them laugh uncontrollably, rocks their Rock N Plays, retrieves lost pacifiers and gives me constant reports from the back seat ("This one is sleeping mommy, this one is crying.." etc) and he calls them "his babies."

This morning on our ride to work he told me that he wished it was a rainy thunderstorm day so we could stay home and cuddle. Then he said that he's a little bit afraid of thunder and lightening. He asked me what I was afraid of.

I told him the only thing I was afraid of is anything bad ever happening to him or his sisters.

He thought for a second and said "Mommy, you don't have to worry about that because I won't let anything happen to my sisters! If there is a bad guy It's OK because I'm a superhero and I'll hit him with my sword. Then I'll bonk him on the head and throw him in the garbage. I won't ever let any bad guys near my sisters!"

Other evidence of his huge heart and what prompted me to finally write this post was something that happened last night..

Two days earlier, Jackson had come home from running errands with Daddy with a 4th of July style pinwheel that he told me he was going to dig a hole for in the ground down by the pool later when it gets warmer.

He really loved this pinwheel.

Fast forward to last night as his little friend Priscilla and her parents were leaving our impromptu dinner and what does he do but give her his pinwheel!

Not some old toy he never played with anyway, but rather his brand new and prized possession.

My heart almost burst with pride.

I love this boy so much!


	24. Chapter 23

Here it is, March 30th and technically spring, but it snowed. Yes SNOWED this morning! Not sure why I'm shocked honestly, this has been the loooooooongest snowiest winter ever. But I'm not just here to talk about winter, I've still got to tackle fall as well because it's been so long since I last posted. Shamefully long. Jackson is almost done with Kindergarten, and Trini & Evelyn are 2 and half. In three short months they will be moving up to the preschool room at daycare! I can't even believe it. This whole year has gotten away from me. Every time I think of something I want to post about I think – wait, I can't post that because I didn't post yet about such and such that happened before it. Case in point, I never posted about Jackson's 6th birthday, so I didnt' want to then post about his first day at Kindergarten. It's a vicious cycle so I decided today I'm going to do a catch up post so that I can commit to memory some of the highlights of this fall and Winter.

The thing is that I don't want to forget this year in particular for the girls because two is tough yes, but also MAGICAL. Partly because I just love the toddler stage SO much – the cute way they say things, their chubby checks and round necks and diaper butts. But also because this whole year has been a series of firsts for them. Yes, their birthday party was technically their second birthday party, but it was the first one where they got really excited about the cake, and their party hats, and their presents!

Ditto with Christmas, and their first time playing in the snow. Pure magic.


	25. Chapter 24

Everyone has been there.

You invest time and effort in to someone who you think will be a lifelong friend, only to discover that after your usefulness to them has worn out, you're no longer a part of their life. You're tossed from their circle like a pair of shitty underwear, destined to remain a story happily forgotten.

As I get ready to send my oldest off to school, I can't help but wonder who he will become friends with. Will he find life long companionship right off the bat and stick with them forever? Will our home become a revolving door for a blur of random personalities until he finds the combination that sticks? Will he ever create a strong bond with anyone?

I was spoiled in the fact that I found my forever friends long before I figured out what the sticky tabs on maxi pads were used for. We are all still amazing friends to this day, so there is little need for me to search out others to fill the friendship void. However, that doesn't mean I don't keep an eye out new relationships. The thought of adding another like-minded soul to my life is an exciting prospect! Despite the fact that I have no social life (Thanks, kids.), the thought of new blood makes me happy.

With all experiments, all heart-on-the-sleeve crap, comes a fair amount of disappointment, too. How many of us adults have spent time nurturing a relationship only to discover your new friend is really a dick? A Debbie Downer? A narcissist? When the honeymoon phase wears off and the excitement fades, how do you handle knowing that your time was wasted on something that most likely had no chance of moving forward?

Well, it sucks. I'm not too proud to say that I've jumped head-first in to many friendships that left me feeling pretty used at the end. Even as adults, we are not immuned to meeting people who just aren't worth our time. You can only invest for so long before you have to pull the plug and let that shit die.

When my children start forming bonds with others, I want them to know that it is perfectly okay to leave a relationship that does not make them feel good about themselves. Friends are supposed to make you a better version of yourself, not make you feel like you're always chasing them to keep the interest alive.

Does your 'friend' take your time for granted over and over again? It might be time to leave.

Does your 'friend' only seem to need you when they need a favor? It's probably time to leave.

Does your 'friend' say things to purposely embarrass you in public? It is most likely time to leave.

Does your 'friend' act annoyed when you contact them? That's a pretty good hint it's time to leave.

Does your 'friend' act like they have a split personality when you do talk? You should probably call a cab and leave.

Does your 'friend' make you feel shame for your sense of humour? Hand them the walking papers and leave.

Does your 'friend' only hang out with you when there's no better option? You better fucking believe it's time to leave.

Does your 'friend' act rude towards you when others are around? Smack a bitch and leave.

Does your 'friend' ignore you despite efforts to stay in touch? NEWS FLASH! Time to suck it up, leave the guilt, pick your pride off the floor and Get the Fuck Out!

Be kind, be caring, be kinky.


	26. Chapter 25

Old Post from Kat's 1st Pregnancy: Tommy finally felt the baby kick!

Yes, it was quite a milestone for us because like most expectant fathers, Tommy had been looking forward to this for a while…

Jackson only started moving so that I could feel him consistently at around 17-18 weeks around the same time we had the big U/S. Tommy had left town for a Paleontologist Convention with Anton & Trent right after that, so I had hoped that by the time Tommy got back he'd feel the wee bastard moving around in there.

After a few days and several attempts where baby was simply NOT cooperating. Well, that and me ripping some nasty rotten-egg pregnancy farts every night he was afraid to come near me & risk vomiting...[tee-hee], last night Tommy was finally at the right place on my belly at the right time because he felt a strong kick! It was so exciting for both of us, I loved how his eyes lit up as if he'd realized concretely for the first time that yes, there really **_is_** a baby/alien fetus growing inside my uterus...

Be kind be caring be kinky


	27. Chapter 26

Finding out you're expecting twins is life changing. Everything you've expected from your pregnancy, birth and even the rest of your life has to adjust to the bombshell. Knowing what to say to someone who has just found out this groundbreaking news can be tricky, especially if you've never had multiples yourself.

If you know somebody who is expecting twins, here are ten things you should say to them, along with ten things you should probably avoid saying (if you want to stay friends with them).

 **Ten things to say to expectant parents of twins**

1) Congratulations, that's amazing news!

2) You're going to have twice the cuddles and twice the fun!

3) Carrying two babies at once is going to be hard work. What can I do to help? (Follow this up by getting out your diary and planning in some actual dates to help do things like clean the bathroom or mow the lawn).

4) What would you like as a baby gift? Would nappies and wipes be more practical than a cute little outfit?

5) I'll make you some batches of stews/bolognese for your freezer when they arrive.

6) Can I borrow your twin books so I can get a better understanding of what you're going through and how best to support you when the babies arrive?

7) I'll make up a big box of healthy snacks for you as I know how sick you feel when you don't eat regularly while you're pregnant (or if the person is being sick constantly with pregnancy sickness like I was, try offering a box of pregnancy sickness remedies – sparkling water, crackers, seasick wristbands, ice cubes and chewing gum eased mine very slightly!)

8) You sit with your feet up while I make you a cuppa (or drink of your choice, depending on above level of pregnancy sickness!)

9) You look amazing! Your bump is so neat, you'd never know you had two babies in there (not true but we like to hear that we don't look the size of a whale!)

10) Have you heard of TAMBA the Twins and Multiple Births Association? Also, have you found your local twin club as they can be a great support?

Unfortunately the things on the above list aren't things I heard very often (if ever) during either of my pregnancies. Instead, this list of things NOT to say to an expectant parent of twins is more the norm. Unfortunately, I heard each of them throughout my pregnancy. If you find out someone you know is expecting multiples, think before you speak...assholes...

 **What NOT to say to someone expecting twins**

1) OMG, twins, I'd rather die!

2) What did you go and do that for?!

3) Double trouble.

4) That's going to be expensive.

5) I wouldn't wish that on anyone...except for you

6) My friend's sister's aunt had twins.

7) You're going to have your hands full.

8) Wow, rather you than me!

9) You're going to fart like a trucker!

10) You're going to get fat! Don't go eating for three!

What things did people say to you, and what do you wish they'd actually said instead?

Be kind, be caring, be kinky


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